


Duck Prompts

by VoidofRoses



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017), Legend of the Three Caballeros (Cartoon), The Three Caballeros (1944)
Genre: HTTYD references, Other, Spoilers for S01E23: the shadow war, Tumblr Prompt, much to Gyro’s annoyance, slightly anyway, team science debates the existence of unicorns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-10 14:44:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15951494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoidofRoses/pseuds/VoidofRoses
Summary: A series of (semi) unrelated tumblr prompts based on Ducktales [2017] and The Three Caballeros. Feel free to request from me over at my tumblr @genderfluidjose :) (reqs closed as of 1/10/18 so that I can concentrate on other things)





	1. Fangs (vamp au part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “the fangs are real”

They had been travelling for almost a month, just the three of them, when the question about Donald’s teeth came up. Over a roaring fire, the stars shining above and traditional food supplied by Panchito, horses tethered nearby, the atmosphere was right to finally ask the subject. José was the one to breach the subject, though if he was honest the rooster was equally curious once it had been pointed out to him.

Donald raised an eyebrow at the question, reaching to touch underneath his upper beak with his thumb. His teeth poked down, scraping the pad but not enough to draw blood, shrugging and lowering his hand to drape over his knees. “The fangs are real,” he said, leaning back against one of the rocks that surrounded their campsite. “I got them on an adventure with Uncle Scrooge and Della when they made me play bait.”

Panchito frowned, glancing out the corner of his eye to share a look with José. The more he heard about Donald’s Uncle he decided that he didn’t like him much, and this case was no exception. “It’s okay, _mi amigo_. You don’t have to tell us how you got them.”

“ _Sím_. You are still our Donal’,” José said cheerfully, leaning over to pat the duck on the cheeks and cup them. “Our silly, silly Donal’.”

Donald poked his tongue out at the parrot, baring his teeth and the fangs in question, tilting his head to nip at José’s palm teasingly. “Who’re you calling silly?”

“Oh definitely not you, _mi amor_.”

The three of them laughed, his friends shifting closer to sit by him while Donald pulled away from José, rubbing his hand under his jaw with a small frown. The subject was changed, but it was still a sore one to talk about. He closed his eyes, the warmth from the fire and the warmth from his companions making him feel comforted, despite the memory of the fangs closing around his neck, the shouts of his name, and the guilt that his sister and uncle admitted to feeling after the fact.

It was done, there was no point in sulking about it.

But some part of him felt anxiety at the possibility of facing a future without the two birds beside him.


	2. I Dream of Unicorns (team science)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “I don’t dream of unicorns”

“No, Intern, I have never dreamed about unicorns.”

“Aw, c’mon, Dr Gearloose, surely there was a time when you did!” Fenton leaned over the desk, quite close to invading his personal space, much to Gyro’s irritation, tools in hand and making adjustments to the Gizmo suit. “Every kid dreams about unicorns! Hey, Manny, you’ve dreamed about unicorns, haven’t you? Back me up here.”

 _I don’t dream_ , the headless horse tapped out with his hoof as he moved a few boxes. The lab had been renovated after the shadow war, now a little further up in the money bin since the underwater lab was trashed by their shadows. Fenton gave him a deadpanned stare, rubbing his beak and muttering “I don’t know why I expected anything else” under his breath.

“In any case, get back to work,” Gyro groused, tipping the face of his wielding mask to give the younger scientist a stare. “Getting the suit back up and running after Mr Duck somehow managed to completely trash it is our top priority right now. Unicorns can wait…if they’re even real.”

“But, Dr Gearloose, there’s a thousand in one chance that they could be real,” Fenton pressed, reaching into the toolbox that had been salvaged from the flooded lab. “What do you think they’re like? Sparkly, heroic…”

“Or murder horses,” Gyro muttered under his breath, placing the mask back over his face so that the duck couldn’t see his expression. The amount of times he’d mistakenly entered the wrong door in the Other Bin when doing repairs and stumbled upon that damn horse was too many, and Fenton didn’t need to know about the Other Bin right now.

God knew if he did, he’d be chasing after that fucking thing, and he had too much to do to worry over his former intern.

Not that he’d worry.

Maybe a little.


	3. How to Train Your Dragon (Lena McDuck)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “how many dragons did you adopt?”

“Uncle Scrooge, just how many baby dragons _did_ you adopt?”

Lena turned on her heel to look around them at all the baby dragons running around, some barely a few weeks old and others much older, sticking close to Webby. The black and white little things were like shadows in a way, sweeping under their feet and playing with each other like puppies. When the girls had insisted on seeing the dragons for Webby’s birthday wish, Scrooge had kept his promise, and a week later they were at the Other Bin, being tripped up and head over heeled into submission by tiny dragons while the white-skinned mother watched on, reclining against a small pile of gold and huffing smoke, several other eggs between her claws.

“Eh, well, dragons reproduce asexually, so it didn’t quite matter that when I faced the Night Fury and brought her home, she didn’t have a mate.” The old duck scratched his beak, cane in hand, before he lowered it to rest his weary old bones against it. “Believe you and me, when I discovered her first clutch, she really, _really_ didn’t like me, but I managed to convince her that I was a friend once I caved and gave her some gold.”

“They’re so adorable!” Webby let out a small squeal as one licked at her leg, sniffing at her skirts, tail wagging as she picked it up, turning her head to look at Scrooge with big eyes. “Can we please take one back to the mansion? I promise I’ll take good care of it.”

“Now, lass, dragons need to be with their mother for the first year of their lives.” Reaching over to a nearby shelf while Webby let out an “aww”, Scrooge thumbed along the leather-bound, fireproof books before dragging out one with an “ahah!” of success. “According to the vikings of Berk, they need to develop social skills and familial habits before they leave their mother.”

Lena took the book, thumbing through it. Some part of her (from Magica, maybe?) recognized the writing as Norse runes, causing the girl to frown. “How long have these guys been around?”

“Och, dragons are about as ancient as the world itself,” he said, sitting down on an ottoman cushion, curving his hands around his cane as dragons cooed around him, sniffing his tailcoats. “My ancestors helped train and rescue them from people who would otherwise do them wrong, some thousand years ago.”

“Your family’s pretty neat, huh?” The punk girl looked a little crestfallen as she thumbed through the old book, pursing her beak.

“You mean _our_ family, Lena,” Webby said, leaning against her with the baby dragon still in her arms. “You’re part of it too.”

“Aye, lass.” Scrooge frowned at her over his spectacles, making a mental note to himself to discuss things with her when they went back to the mansion, pointing his cane in her direction. “I did make a promise to you after all. You’re as much a part of my family as these dragons are to their mother. Never forget that.”

Lena ducked her head into the book, hiding her face flush as she pushed Webby off her fondly, though let her hang onto her when she set down the baby dragon and wrapped her arms around her. She was still adjusting to not being a shadow, but one glance at the satisfied look on the mother dragon’s face made her think it was going to be worth it. She patted Webby’s arm, turning her head to look at Scrooge. “Sorry. I’m…I’m still getting used to it I think, Mr McDuck.”

Scrooge tilted his head, shaking it. “Call me Uncle Scrooge.”

She gave him a small smile as Webby hugged her tighter. It would work itself out. A family didn’t have to be a mother and father and their children after all. It could be a grouchy old duck, his nephews, his housekeeper and her granddaughter, his dead butler and a shadow child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little voice actor humour: David Tennant voices Spitelout Jorgensen in the HTTYD movies


	4. Kidnapped! (hostage au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> promp: “kidnapped and held hostage au”

He was welcomed back to the land of the living by the ache in his back and the one on his head.

Donald groaned deeply as he blinked himself awake, finding himself staring up at a wet ceiling, moist with damp air and patched with moss in some places. A wriggle of his wrists let him know why they were behind his back rather than flopped uselessly to the side; he was tied up, a double knot his fingers told him after a flexing search, looped around his wrists tightly. Whoever had done it had done a thorough job. The duck pushed himself to sit up, ignoring the headache pounding at the back of his head, and looked around.

A dripping sound came from somewhere, the bars rusted with age barring his escape on foot. His webbed feet weren’t tied, the tips scraping along the concrete floor as he hoisted himself up, tilting his head to look at the bars. “Donald, how the fuck do you get yourself into these messes?” he asked himself, shoulder back as he scowled at the bars, memory coming back to him.

Uncle Scrooge and Della had dragged him along on yet another cockamamie adventure, crossing the ocean in his sister’s pride and joy, the _Sunchaser_. And he’d finally been gathering the courage to make a move on that dame down at the bar too. Donald grumbled, leaning his head against the bars of his cell, wriggling his bonds just to check – nope, weren’t going to budge.

“Hey!” He slammed his body against the bars, pressing his cheek against the cold metal and glowering down what he could see of the corridor. “What’s the big idea?!”

Receiving no answer, Donald huffed and leaned back against the bars, if only to cool down his aching head. He couldn’t put together the build style of the bricks, what century they might’ve been made – he wasn’t an architect or history professor by any means, but they were old, that was for certain. What had Uncle Scrooge been after…? Della had grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away from the restaurant before his date got there, babbling something about adventure and ruins. Naturally, that meant that Donald would be playing the bait for something.

“I swear to Selene this will be the last one,” he grumbled to himself, sliding down to sit on the concrete floor of the cell. “No more. I’m tired of playing the victim. I’m a goddamn navy officer for crying out loud. This is just getting ridiculous…”

“Hmm. I wasn’t expecting you to be awake so soon.”

The voice made Donald start and flop to the ground on his side, scrambling to sit up when a hand reached through the bars to grab at his head feathers, pulling him hard against the bars of his cell. Looking out the corner of his eye, he could barely make out his captor’s features in the dark, but the fingers in his feathery hair felt large. He grunted, huffing. “What d’you want, you big palooka?”

“So you’re Scrooge McDuck’s nephew? I was expecting a bit more from the lineage of the world’s greatest explorer and richest duck.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m nothing special,” Donald said with a self depreciative chuckle.

“…you do realise I can’t understand a word you’re saying.” It sounded more like a statement than anything, one that Donald had heard too many times, making him roll his eyes. He felt his captor shrug. “In any case, as long as Scrooge pays the ransom I sent him, you’ll be released likely soon. Play up, and you’ll be punished accordingly.”

“Well now you’re _really_ hoping for too much.” The duck leaned back against his cell as the hand left his head, staring up at the ceiling. What was it with people and expecting his Uncle to pay up for family members? Seriously, this was like, the fifth one in a year since he and Della had started adventuring with him. “Should’ve stayed on Granny’s farm,” he muttered to himself as he heard footsteps leave, then a clanging noise that made him jump, turning to see his sister dash towards him.

“Donnie!”

“Della? What’re you doing here?”

His twin gave him a look as she produced keys from nowhere, unlocking the cell door. “What do you mean what am I doing here? I’m rescuing you, you idiot.” Donald looked a bit puzzled as he stood, pushing himself to his feet to make room for her in the cell. Della threw her arms around his shoulders, then untied his bonds. “Chickadee rule #256, always know how to untie knots.”

Donald brought his arms back around, cricking his shoulders and rubbing his wrists, looking down at them. “Where’s Uncle Scrooge?” Della gave him a look and he shook his head. “Right, right. Should’ve known he wouldn’t be here.”

“I told him he was an idiot for leaving you behind,” she said, huffing and turning to lead him out. “It was his idea in the first place to use you as bait for the mission.” Della paused, lowering her head as she lead him down the dank, damp hall. “I’m…I’m sorry, Donnie. I know I get caught up in the adventure sometimes, but I’d never leave you behind intentionally, you know that right?”

He felt her squeeze his hand in the dark, nodding and returning it. “I know. I’m sorry…for the things I said before I went off on my own.”

Della gave him a smile over her shoulder. “Twins?”

“Twins.”

But he was going to give Uncle Scrooge a piece of his mind when they got home.


	5. Proposal (Fenro 5 times)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four times Gyro tried to propose to Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, and the one time he didn’t.

The first time he tried proposing, Gyro Gearloose had tripped over his own feet on the way down the stairs of the lab, landed on his back and had scurried away in embarrassment, not noticing the way Fenton looked after him with some confusion before going back to what he had been doing.

The second time he tried, they had been on a coffee date in downtown Duckburg, getting away from the labs for once, when the Beagle Boys had busted into the café. Fenton had jumped into action, using the communication device they had installed in his watch to summon the suit, flipping the table up and spilling Gyro’s coffee and cinnamon scroll all over him. That attempt was deemed a failure too.

The third time had been a quiet night on the couch in the lab after a long day of work, watching one of the telenovelas that Fenton liked to watch, although Gyro himself hadn’t been paying much attention, sitting between his two interns. He hid his sweaty palms against his pant legs, drumming his fingers against his knee as Fenton sobbed into a handkerchief. He opened his mouth to say something, and instead found himself with a crying duck and headless horseman on his shoulders. Gyro threw his hands up and left them to sob together.

The fourth time was after a particularly harrowing day at the office, or at least that was what he would’ve liked. The vultures had tried to convince Mr McDuck to fire him and his team again, and his newest invention had gone haywire (again). So that plan had been scrapped.

The fifth time wasn’t even him. They’d gone out to see a theatre show that Fenton had two tickets too (apparently M’ma Cabrera had been going but had been called away on duty). Stepping out into the cold night air, Gyro tugged his jacket around himself as Fenton babbled on about the play like an excited kid, hands going everywhere in one of the many manners that Gyro liked about him.

There was a long pause between the two of them, hands finding their way together as Gyro pulled his phone out with his other one, beginning to take notes. He felt his hand being tugged, and he turned to look at Fenton, the younger duck’s cheeks flushed with the cool night air as he made them stop, scratching the back of his neck. “Y’know, I’ve been meaning to ask you something for a while, Dr Gearloose…”

“If you’re going to ask for a break or a holiday, I’m going to have to remind you that you need to ask Mr McDuck now.”

“Well…I guess the only holiday I’ll be taking will be a honeymoon…hopefully.”

It took a full minute for that to sink in as Gyro glanced up from his cell phone, frowning deeply. “Wait…” Fenton was lowering himself down to one knee, reaching for his back pocket and fumbling with a box. “Wait wait waitwaitwaitwait! But I was the one who was going to…!”

Fenton didn’t look like he was paying attention to what he was saying, rather trying to gather himself before he simply blurted it out, holding open the box. “Willyoumarryme?!”

Gyro sighed and palmed his face, placing his phone back into his pocket, looking down at the duck. “Intern… _Fenton_. I suppose if I had to spend the rest of my life with an idiot, I’d prefer it to be an idiot like you.”

M’ma Cabrera was overjoyed when they told her the news over the phone the next morning while Manny passed money to Lil Bulb in the background.


	6. Feeding (vamp au part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “N - Vampire AU”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did I make a continuation of the first prompt? of course I did (warning for frisky ducks and roosters)

“Do they hurt?” Panchito asked softly.

They had retired to their tent for the evening, big enough for two but rather cramped for three, even if two of them were smaller than the third, a _sarape_ underneath as a bed. José was curled up on his back, arms behind his head and hat over his eyes, having bid them goodnight a while ago, but Donald and Panchito, unable to sleep, had turned towards each other, making small talk before the rooster took hold of him by the hip, propping him up on his knee.

The question made little sense to Donald before he remembered their talk earlier, his fingers lightly tugging at the feathers on Panchito’s chest. He tilted his head, considering it, before shrugging. “I hardly notice it now,” he admitted quietly, crossing his arms and pillowing his head against them on Panchito’s chest. “Except…when the hunger gets too much, they ache. It’s…not a nice feeling, so I try to keep it from happening.”

“How?” His chest rumbled with the question, his own hands curving around Donald’s rump and settling there, palming through the white, soft down.

“Do you really want to know?” he murmured, tilting his head to press a kiss to the rooster’s collar. It was dark in the tent, the lamp having long been put out, but he could feel the nod, and he pressed his beak into Panchito’s throat, hearing his breath hitch. “Smaller animals,” Donald confessed, closing his eyes as he fought back the rising urge. “And my uncle owns the hospital in Duckburg so I get blood packs from there every so often. Just enough to keep it from being too…overwhelming.”

They were quiet for a few minutes, just laying there comfortably enjoying each other’s presence, before Panchito spoke again, his fingers dragging up along the middle of Donald’s back to a small noise from the duck. “Are you hungry now?”

There was a pause before he responded, face buried under the other’s chin. “A little,” he admitted, hands finding purchase on Panchito’s hips and digging his fingers into the red feathers there.

“Did you want…?”

A small growl rumbled in the back of Donald’s throat, pulling himself up to rest in Panchito’s middle. In the dark of the night and the tent, his eyes seemed to have a glow about them, yellow tinging the white around the edges and the pupils that burned red. “Do you know,” he groused, leaning down to kiss the rooster’s collarbone as he ground his hips down with a bit of force, “that you are the most reckless, irritating person I have ever met?”

“I’ll take that as a yes then,” Panchito replied with a soft laugh, tilting his head back and humming at the feeling of the other’s beak pressing further into his neck. The teeth that he had inquired about earlier grazed under his feathers there, finding the pulse that constantly teased him. Donald’s hands found his, sitting on the duck’s waist, before there was pressure. His breath hitched, hips jerking up and eyes fluttering as Donald fed, throat filling with each swallow.

It was a full minute before Donald pulled back after sealing the wound with a lick, running the back of his hand along his beak to catch anything that had escaped, before a hand reached to take his, Panchito leaning up to kiss his chin, then found his mouth briefly. Donald pulled back, flushed from forehead to neck, the rooster chuckling at him as he reached up to cradle the back of his head. “That wasn’t so bad.”

“If I had been hungrier, I might have killed you,” Donald said grumpily, pushing himself to get off before the hand at the back of his head kept him there, a grin on the rooster’s face. “But thank you.”

“Anytime you feel hungry, just ask.”

“Okay.”


	7. Mama (apprentice José au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “w - learning how to use dark magic au“
> 
> a.k.a that au where José is raised by Magica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this like three times before I was satisfied and I’m still not satisfied but enjoy what I got ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

José had known that he was…different, from the moment he could understand such things. His m’ma was different too, but she simply explained that it was because he was a parrot while she was a duck, but that didn’t mean that she loved him any less.

At least that was what she said.

Sure she was distant at times, but she entertained him while she worked, her magic allowing her to cause shadows to dance and swirl around him. His own shadow was a playmate, but when he’d asked her why he couldn’t play with other kids, she had picked him up and cradled him in her arms against her hip, eyes dark.

“Because they will fear you, my little bird,” she cooed, using the nickname that she had used since he was little (well, littler), tickling him under his chin as she set her staff against the wall. “Once they know what you can do, they will either use you or fear what you can do. Any friends that you make will turn their backs.”

The subject was promptly dropped as she propped him on her workbench, taking hold of her staff again as he looked on her curiously. “What’re you doing, m’ma?”

She looked at him and sighed, tilting her head to press a kiss to his forehead. “My sweet little bird, you’ll understand someday.” She held her hand over her cauldron, a purple glow surrounding her hand as she began to chant, hair blowing. José watched her work, curiosity etched on his face as his small legs kicked back and forth against the bench.

She was right.

He didn’t understand until he was a young man of eighteen, and they were standing in the middle of an inactive volcano, the lava bubbling underneath them. His cloak shielded him from being discovered, something that she had made for him when he first insisted on accompanying her on her quests to divest Scrooge McDuck of his number one dime. But this, this was the ultimatum. One of them would be coming out alive, and José would be lying if he didn’t say he wasn’t rooting for his m’ma.

She had him cornered on the bridge crossing over Mount Vesuvius, cackling and staff raised as she fought with McDuck, cane and staff cracking against each other like they were swords. The dime was in m’ma’s free hand, glowing with her power and raising from the bridge as the air crackled with power around them, the volcano bubbling for the first time in thousands of years. “At last! Your number one dime!” Their weapons clashed again, her smile turning ugly. “How does it feel, Scroogie? Are you trembling with fear yet, after you and your family cast…”

She shrieked as the dime was knocked out of her hand when a flying kick happened, and the both of them looked up to see Della Duck swinging from a rope attached to the plane flying around overhead. Scrooge stomped on the dime before it could go over the edge of the ladder, tipping his top hat to her. “Thanks, lass.” She saluted him and gestured for the pilot to move, while her uncle scooped his prize possession back into his hand, pointing his cane at the witch in front of him. “Now, where were we? Ah yes, you were about to lose, weren’t ye, Magica?”

“Curse you, Scrooge McDuck!”

Using her staff like a baseball bat, Magica swung a spell blindly, while Scrooge held up his hand as though he could stop a spell with it. José froze, realising that the dime was in that hand and opening his mouth to shout…

It was all over in the blink of an eye, Magica’s screams echoing through the volcano as she disappeared into a swirling vortex, her staff clattering to the bridge floor as the shadows around where she had been crumbled, the staff loosing its shape and poofing. Scrooge sighed with a bit of relief, lifting his hand to be picked up by his niece and be carried off out of there.

It took José a minute to realise he was breathing heavily, hands clenched around his cloak before he knew they were gone, upon which he threw it off and ran down the embankment, into the volcano and onto the bridge. He found just her amulet, shadows wriggling around it as he placed his hand over it, swallowing deeply. “M’ma,” he said, feeling a burning in his gut.

Something formed under the amulet, and José lifted his hand to watch a child no older than five be formed, her shadow stretching up along the bridge and letting out a shriek. “Accursed…ugh, I _hate_ that duck!”

“M-m’ma, I…you’re alive?”

“Barely,” she groused, shadow hand going to her hips, shivering. “Hekate alive, I feel so weak.” Magica paused, eyeing the duckling in his grasp. “What is _that_?”

“I…truthfully, I don’t know, m’ma.” José cradled the infant (for that was what she basically was, even if she did appear to be five). “She…she came from your shadows when McDuck defeated you.”

“Hmm. She might be useful in the future, my little bird.” Her shadow came closer, tugging at itself and letting out a disgusted sigh. “I suppose I’m trapped like this for now.” She rose from the wood of the bridge, appearing to wrap around him. “Until you get Scrooge’s number one dime for me.” A finger touched his beak, and José felt his spine tingle cold. “You will have to carry out my plans for me for now, little one, and I have a plan…”

And that was how José Carioca née de Spell found himself acquainted with Donald Duck of all people, in the local parenting classes of Duckburg while the duck tried to control three ducklings of his own. Lena – what he had taken to calling the duckling born from M’ma’s shadow – had taken a shine to the green one, which got them talking and planning play dates.

While his hatred for the Duck/McDuck clan simmered beneath, it was time to play out the long game.


	8. Werewolves of Scotland (vamp au part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "G - werewolves au"
> 
> After his nephew is turned into a vampire on an adventure, Scrooge McDuck reveals his own history as one of the supernatural.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sings "everything is interconnected" in a sing song voice

Opening his eyes with a small groan, Donald woke, blinking them blearily as he felt his body. He was sore, his neck throbbed and his head ached, and one glance around the room told him he was in the VIP suite in Duckburg Royal Hospital. He made to roll to the side, to move or do something, but a tug at his wrists made him look down, finding himself restrained to the hospital bed.

“What the…”

Another look at the room made his skin run cold under his feathers. There was drops of blood on the floor, his eyes widening before he cringed at the memory flooding back. That’s right. That’s right, he…he had attacked the nurse that came in…Donald felt his stomach churn as he shivered, the memory still fresh. If that had happened, then where was the body?

“Alright, alright, alright. Fine.” The accent alerted him to the door that was opening, his uncle walking into the room and looking like he hadn’t slept in days. Scrooge ran a hand down his face, grumbling under his breath, before he saw that Donald was awake, perking up a bit. “Well this is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into, laddie. I had to bribe the morgue to list her death as an accident, which it very well was considering she failed to heed the signs on the door.”

He took the seat next to Donald’s bed, hand wrapped around his cane. Something smelt different about him, something Donald hadn’t noticed before, as his shoulders hunched and he glanced down at his lap. “I…what did I do, Uncle Scrooge?”

“You pretty much drained her dry,” his uncle said casually as though talking about the weather, taking his spectacles and wiping them with a handkerchief. “If I hadn’t walked into the room the other nurse might’ve been next. I know a few tricks about keeping newborn vampires away. Knew you’d be back to your old self eventually though. After a feed like that, who wouldn’t be?”

Donald’s breath hitched, tapping his tongue to the roof of his mouth and tasting dry blood. He closed his eyes, trembling in his hospital bed, remembering the Count with his teeth in is neck, his sister yelling as she wrestled him off and his uncle hovering over him, concern on his face before he blacked out. “…you came back for me,” he said, voice small.

“Well of course I did. I was nae paying for a funeral if I could help it, those things cost too much and y’have no insurance,” Scrooge huffed, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “And yer kin. My sister would roll over in her grave if I’d let anything happen t’ye this young.” He looked down at his lap before returning his gaze to his nephew. “But, lad, I also know what it feels like to not have the help that you need after some supernatural decides to make a meal out of ye.”

Donald was ready to shout at his uncle, to scream and rant and rage, but that sentence stopped him, blinking in surprise. “What?”

Reaching to tug the arm of his coat up, Scrooge revealed a nasty gash on his arm, long since healed over, distinct markings that Donald could remember seeing in his youth before they were quickly covered up. “It was when I was still a wee boy,” he started explaining, voice loosing its snappishness, turning his arm over so he could look at the scar on his arm where feathers refused to grow. “The Scottish Highlands were already dangerous back in the 1880s under Queen Victoria, but there were reports of a man wandering the lowlands that could change shape. Daddy sealed off the farm, and my sisters and I were forbidden to go anywhere. Me, being the brash boy that I was, knew I was a good shot with a rifle and decided to go huntin’ for the beast.”

Scrooge readjusted his grip on his cane and the chair underneath him, sighing at himself. “I don’t quite remember what happened, but the next thing I knew I was waking up in my own bed a few days later. Daddy had found me and brought me home after learning from my sisters that I’d gone off to find the beast, and Mummy had used her herbal knowledge to treat the wound. It wasn’t until the month after that we found out I could transform as well.”

Donald didn’t realise how much he was enrapt in the story until his uncle stopped talking, watching the way he gripped his cane, his other hand going to the scar. “What…what did you do?” he asked softly, watching Scrooge squeeze his eyes shut.

“I attacked Matilda,” he said, voice croaking as his hand tightened around his arm. “And Daddy, when he tried to stop me. After that, they kept me chained up in the stables when the moon came out in her full beauty.” Scrooge looked over his spectacles at his nephew, beak pursed. “There was another reason why I came to America, other than to seek my fortune. I thought it might hold a key to my cure, so I searched. I asked Natives, I travelled to South America to seek help from the Incas, I flew to Australia to speak to the Aborigines. I’ve spent my whole life searching; it’s one of the reasons I became an adventurer.” He ran his hand through the feathers at the back of his head.

“So the reason we were in Castle Duckula…” Donald was beginning to put the pieces together.

“I heard a rumor that there were werewolves in the gardens once, a long time ago,” Scrooge said, head tilted down as he rolled his sleeve back to his wrist, covering the scar once again. “I had no idea the master of the castle was still active. My instincts took over when I saw him biting your neck, so I held him off while Della fetched my prepared steaks from the bag. I wasn’t going to lose another family member to the supernatural, but I did.” He squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders sagging. “’m sorry, lad.”

Donald looked down at his lap, hands flexing in his restraints. On one hand, he was angry at his uncle for getting him in danger like that, for sacrificing his life and endangering the life of his sister, but on the other hand, a calmer thought came through that Scrooge really hadn’t learned anything since he was a boy. He curled his legs up, fingers tugging at the restraints as he glanced away. “…So what now?”

The older duck looked at him, unsure whether or not he was relieved that Donald hadn’t exploded in anger at him, but knowing that he would have deserved it either way. Scrooge sighed, grip relaxing a little on his cane. “Well, I own the hospital and the blood bank, so we can start by supplying you with blood packs. An’ I’ll spare no expense if you want to look for your own cure.”

His nephew paused, head tilted to the side before he spoke quietly. “I think…I think we should take this one step at a time. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to grow old anymore, so I can take all the time in the world.”

Scrooge tilted his head in acknowledgement of his nephew’s wishes, standing from his seat and leaning against his cane. “Aye, lad, that ye do.” His brow furrowed with a frown before he cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll go see where the nurse is with that bloody blood pack. You…you stay here.” He turned to leave, before he heard a very quiet voice.

“Thanks…for…for telling me, Uncle Scrooge.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Donald.” Top hat tilted over his eyes, the older duck squared his shoulders and inhaled, exhaling it and on the way out turned it into a shout on his way out the door. “Where in the name of Dun Sgathaich is that blasted nurse with the blasted blood pack?!”


	9. Who You Gonna Call? (medium April au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "y -spirit medium and desperate ghost au"
> 
> April Duck senses something odd about her new student Webbigail Vanderquack...

Looking over her class, April leaned against her desk as she checked her phone. The sound of pencils scribbling over paper and the ticking clock on the wall were the only noises, though she occasionally heard whispers coming from the back corner.

She never saw herself as a teacher.

May and June had gone into the air force and army respectively, but April? April had stayed in Duckburg, choosing to teach instead of anything active that she might have been able to do. Selene knew why, she hated kids herself, but she felt like she could do more good here than out in the world. Picking up her coffee with her spare hand, April winced as she tasted cold milk and beans, tossing the cup into the bin beside her desk and pushed herself away from it, crossing her arms as she walked down the aisles between the desks of her students.

Stopping near the new student, she glanced down briefly to examine how she was doing. Webbigail Vanderquack was…eccentric at her best, downright weird at her worst, and everything in between. She had heard rumours of bullying, though the young duckling could take care of herself if the injuries inflicted on the perpetrators were anything to go by. Still, it meant that she sat alone in the corner of her classroom, and that compelled April to check on her more than most of her students.

Webby looked out the corner of her eye at her and gave a sheepish smile, her wrist still bandaged from where she had broken it defending herself, and went back to her test. A quick look over assured April that she had a few things correct, even if a bit exaggerated, but there was a sketch in the corner that concerned her. It was Webby herself, but it was the shadow behind her that drew her attention.

She’d seen that shape before.

April paused, then squeezed her shoulder and went on to the next student, but not before spotting the shape out the corner of her eye. It…looked like the shadow in Webby’s sketch, though it drew itself up around her protectively rather than menacing. It glanced her way, as though it knew she was watching it, and April looked away to hide her concern.

She had always been the triplet with the sixth sense, even back when they were living in Donald’s old cabana. It wasn’t just Xandra and the whole thing with the Three Caballeros that had heightened it, but she had learned to hone it a bit from the goddess, after the mishap in the Temple of the Sun and the Underworld. April gnawed on her thumb as she glanced over her shoulder at the shadow, unable to fully discern what was going on and remembering the shadow war that had happened before school came back.

It seemed to be trying to get her attention, now that it knew she could sense it, and when she glanced back over to Webby she could see the ghostly outline of a young girl hovering over her instead, pointing to the friendship bracelet the duckling wore on her wrist.

Oh… _oh_.

April cringed as she felt her heart break a bit for her student, bringing her phone up to look busy rather than what she was actually doing. The ghost girl tilted her head at her, crossing her arms over her chest and she entered a war of silent words with her. She didn’t _do_ that anymore, but when she turned to go back, a message was typed out onto her screen.

 _Tell her I’m sorry – Lena_.

Oh sweet Selene.

The bell rang, signalling the end of class and the day, and everyone began packing up, handing her their tests. April took hold of each of them, dreading the thought of facing Webby after that message her ghost had typed out for her. Sure enough, as each of her students filed out and she finally came to the duckling, she sighed and leaned down, placing the tests on her desk.

“Webby…can I talk to you?”

“Uh sure. If it’s about the fight, it was Devlin’s fault in the first place. He knows I’m a martial arts expert and trained in espionage, but he provoked me…”

“No, it’s not about that.” April straightened herself, rolling her shoulders and looking behind the girl to an encouraging nod behind her from the ghost hanging off her. “Did you…know a girl named Lena?”

Webby’s eyes widened, her hands clenching around her backpack despite the wince that she did when she hurt her injured wrist in the process. “How…how do you know that name? Did…did Granny say…?”

“I know it might not be my place to say, but I’m…sometimes I see people. People who have, well, passed on for a lack of better word.”

“You’re a medium,” she said in understanding, her voice quieting and looking over her shoulder, as though hoping she could see it too. The ghost girl – Lena – shook her head at her, and April sighed, crossing her arms and leaning against her desk.

“Yes. Though I don’t practice it much anymore, my senses are still high enough that I can see others. And she wanted me to pass on a message.” Webby looked at her intently, and she felt like the girl’s heart was either going to break or what. “She said to tell you “I’m sorry”.”

Webby brushed her hand over her eyes, choking back a sob. “That beautiful idiot. I already told her that it doesn’t matter what she did, I’ll always forgive her.” She wrapped her arms around April, surprising her with a hug and muttering “thank you” into her stomach before she went to join the three boys waiting for her at the doorway, who enveloped her in a hug when they saw her crying.

April nodded her head at the ghost following her, who gave her a smile before fading back into the girl’s shadow. It wasn’t always that pretty, but it was definitely worth it sometimes. She flicked up the contacts on her phone and opened up the three way message between herself and her sisters, picking up the tests on her desk and her bag, walking out the door.

She could feel good about herself again it seemed.


	10. Paranormal Activity (donjosepan)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “B - Paranormal activity in our home AU”

Granny Elvira’s farm was the same as it always had been, even after all these years.

Situated in the middle of a country field far away from any interstate or highway, it had been a long time since Donald had been here, far too long. When Gladstone and Fethry had turned down the chance to own it after her passing (the former citing he wasn’t a stay-at-home type and the latter was down in South America), it fell to Donald and it seemed like a good idea time, and naturally, José and Panchito moved in with him.

It was a change of pace for the three of them. After living in the Institute for a while, it was nice to get back to this kind of thing. Donald had never settled in well after the whole thing with Felldrake so asking Daisy to take control of the Institute was the best thing he could’ve done, his ex girlfriend only too willing. It suited her, and the country suited Donald. He spent his days with his sleeves rolled up and ankle deep in mud, shit or hay, while José gardened and Panchito herded the cattle or cooked in the kitchen.

It had been about a month since they had moved in when things started to happen.

It started little, with things going missing here and there, or the cows being spooked by something. Donald could remember nights in his youth when he and his cousins and sister would sit around campfires in the back paddock and tell stories. Della’s had always been the spookiest, his twin good at telling them to the point where Fethry was almost clinging to him and Gladstone in fear and had to be carried back to the house. The memory of Gladstone’s warning over the phone came back to him.

“ _No way would I ever be interested in Granny’s farm. One, I’m not the type, and two, that shit’s haunted, Donnie. I mean, I know I’m lucky but not even my luck would keep those ghosts at bay for long_.”

Despite the anxiety in the pit of his stomach, Donald swallowed down his medication and left it alone.

It was another month before they had the farm looking good as new since Granny’s passing, Donald having called cousin Gus to help him and José with some of the repairs to the shed and stables. They made small talk while they worked, resetting beams and fixing the old doors, replacing wood in the walls. Gus himself had had the chance to own the farm, but when Donald asked him why he didn’t take it, he just shook his head, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.

“I wouldn’t want to run into the widow.”

“Widow?” José asked, looking over his shoulder at the goose curiously. “Like a spider?”

Gus shook his head, then looked around them and lowered his voice. “They say that a long time ago, before Grandpa Hunkerdink built the farm, a woman drowned in the stream nearby, on the run from the law or somethin’.” He pocketed his handkerchief and then hefted the last wooden slab into their pulley system, helping Donald pull on the rope to lift it up. “She was a murderess who killed her husband and children, all sos that she could be with another. Rumours say she always appears dressed in white.” He wiped his hands on his overalls as José hammered the panel in, huffing and looking at Donald. “Don’t y’remember Granny leavin’ milk and bread on th’ windowsill? It was to appease the woman’s spirit to leave us alone, especially when the lot of yeh were intent on spendin’ the evenin’ outside.”

“ _Dama branca_ ,” José muttered to himself as he slid the hammer into the tool belt far too big for his tiny waist, a look from Donald and Gus making him pause and then shook his head a mite sadly. “My people…my country has similar stories, as does Panchito’s. Not always pretty and definitely not for children.” He tilted his head to look at the duck. “Donal’, perhaps it would be best if we started your _vovo_ ’s tradition of leaving milk and bread on the windowsill back up again, no?”

Donald huffed, adjusting the sleeves of his flannel. “We’ll be fine. We took on that big palooka Felldrake, we can face anything.” At Gus’ confused glance, he shook his head. “Ask me another time, Gus.”

The goose shrugged and set about taking down the pulley system while José pursed his beak together, then sighed and rolled his sleeves up. “I suppose if worse comes to worse I know a few spells that can keep spirits at bay, if not for long. I really must insist on continuing _vovo_ ’s tradition, _meu amor_ , and you know how superstitious Panchito is, but I will double check the wards just to be sure.”

Donald somehow had a feeling that he was going to regret it, watching the parrot start the long walk to the four corners of the property. He knew José had set up spells at the corners when they’d first moved in as sort of a trip wire, just in case, but he turned his head to look at his cousin, Gus rolling the rope around on his arm. “Gus…d’you really think Granny Elvira knew what she was doing?”

“Well, we never saw her, did we? The ghost?” Gus asked, shrugging with a small sigh. “I guess it all depends on what you believe, cuz. I know for sure that Granny knew what she was doing in a lot of things, so I trust in her…whatchacallit…methods. ‘Sup to you.”

They bid Gus farewell after dinner that night, even though they had offered to put him up, the goose was ready to get home. Donald flopped back in a chair at the kitchen table, running a finger through his feathery hair as José sat across from him, sipping a cup of tea, Panchito doing dishes. It was storming outside, the wind having picked up out of nowhere just after Gus had left, dark clouds hovering overhead in the sky.

The lights went out, the three of them letting out a scream as china shattered to the floor, a flash of lightning outside the window illuminating the room and allowing Donald to grab the flashlight from its place on the shelf, flicking it on. He shone it around the kitchen, first finding Panchito standing near the kitchen sink, gripping it in a white knuckled grip, and then turning it to José who gave him a look.

“What? It’s not the ghost, the lightning probably blew a fuse!” the duck grumped as Panchito moved over to José, taking hold of his shoulders and squeaking at the news.

“There’s a _espírito_?!”

José sighed, placing his hand to his forehead. “I told you this would happen, Donal’.”

“There is no _espírito_ , Panch,” Donald said, turning the flashlight on the rooster and making him squint in the light. “Besides, aren’t you a three times world champion luchador?”

“Well sure, but that’s people. _People_ , Donaldo. I can’t wrestle _ghosts_!”

“We’ve been to the underworld for Selene’s sake!”

“I’m afraid it looks as though you are about to be able to try, _meu amor_ ,” José interrupted them almost calmly, the next lightning flash illuminating the window once again, making him cringe as the three of them looked to it. Donald dropped the flashlight in shock, backing himself into the refrigerator as the ghostly visage of a woman stared back at them, skeletal in appearance and clothed in white like Gus said she would be.

“ _La Llorona_ ,” Panchito panicked, now practically draped around José’s neck like a scarf or as Scooby Doo would Shaggy Rogers.

“Donal’, I blessed the window with a combination of salt and water hours ago, but it might still be too young to keep such an old spirit away,” the parrot said as he patted the rooster’s arm out of the choke hold on his throat, looking at the duck as he fumbled with the fridge door. “Now would be the time to appease her, my friend, before things get worse.”

“But…but we need…”

José smacked the table with his hand, standing and taking Panchito with him before the taller lost his balance and fell off. “Donal’ Duck, she is a woman in so much agony that she is drifting with sorrow! Do not let her suffer any more than she is already!”

Bony fingers scraped at the window as Donald screwed his eyes shut, shoulders sagging as he looked at his partners pleadingly. “Help me?”

José gave him a smile and put his cigar out, rolling up his sleeves before taking hold of Panchito’s hand to keep the rooster comforted. Together, they found the milk and the bread, and a glass and plate for both, Donald limiting his whining to grumbling under his breath as the wind and lightning rumbled around the house, threatening to undo their hard work. The window was opened, Donald shakily placing both on the windowsill as the ghostly woman hovered there.

“My lady, please forgive my love’s actions,” José said with a bow, gesturing to the meagre meal sitting on the sill as his partners cowered together behind him. “And please know that you are always welcome on your land.”

The ghost seemed to consider it, before she disappeared, along with the bread and the milk from the glass. The wind stopped and the lights flickered back on, Panchito and Donald unable to help but stare as José took both plate and glass from the window, putting them into the sink calmly. “H-how did you know what to do?” the rooster asked, wrapping his arms around José in a hug of apology for his cowardice.

“I have dealt with a few spirits before,” he confessed, reaching to close the window and patting Panchito’s arm in acceptance, kissing his cheek. “Sometimes all they need is the assurance that they can pass through their land in peace.” José turned his head to look at Donald with a small frown. “Which is why I wanted you to set the bread and milk out in the first place, Donal’.”

“Alright, alright. We’ll make extra,” he said, holding his hands up in defeat before he tilted his head to kiss José’s beak. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.”

“Y’know,” Panchito began slowly, reaching to pull the duck into their hug. “That was a rush. Anyone else feel up for a little midnight…”

“Not the time, Panchito!”

The rooster pouted, but settled for couch snuggles and a telenovela.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yet again, the cousins growing up on Granny’s farm is inspired by @solbabydraw’s au


	11. How Soon is Now? (witchcraft au part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> witchcraft au. no prompt, just something I wanted to write myself

Granny Elvira knew her grandchildren were witches the moment they crossed the threshold into her farm as young ducklings. Duck and Coot blood carried the gene for particular kinds of witchcraft, and Elvira herself was a master in her own way, but she could see that her grandchildren might need more convincing and some time away from the tragedies that had befallen them and caused them to come into her care.

Gladstone was the most apparent. Even as a boy, his luck was what kept him out of danger, whether it be a rampaging bull that swerved at the right time or a schoolyard bully that tripped himself up. He had the most peculiar affinity for water too, preferring to make it dance and sway to using it for any malevolent means. Sure he used it to tease his cousin Donald a bit too much, but he was handy when it came to brushing water off the roofs when it rained for several days straight.

Della was next to discover her craft, and Elvira had not known if the McDuck blood in her from her mother Hortense would cancel out the Coot/Duck blood from her father Quackmore. Always her head in the clouds and staring at the moon and stars, she was the first to accept the new changes to her life, going with the flow of things. Her cousins and many visitors adored her, and her ideas were simply inspiring. Elvira knew from the moment she saw her that she would be a great pilot some day, always playing airplanes with little Fethry or using air tricks to prank her twin brother.

Poor Donald got the short end of the stick, so to speak. He was a bit of a late bloomer - even Fethry had discovered his craft some time before him, nearly burning the shed down with his fire and his ever sunny attitude. Elvira often saw him struggling with the hay bales or cow pies before the earth would break free and his fork would fling it into the air, causing his cousins to scatter from whatever it was they were doing to avoid being hit. He was built like an ox by the time he was thirteen, muscle built up from mucking out stalls and moving hay bales into the paddocks.

She found him one day, sitting on a log after chores were done and watching his cousins and sister play in the water. Gladstone was showing off, as usual, Della and Fethry squealing and laughing as they tried to get him back together. Elvira watched the way his shoulders hunched, fingers picking at stray twigs and bark on the fallen log and, gathering her skirts around her and stepped over the log to sit down next to him. “Somethin’ on your mind, lad?”

Donald jerked a bit when he realised she’d appeared, shrinking a bit before he lowered his head, though she noticed he glanced out the corner of his eye to his kin. “…I don’t think I’m a witch like you think I am, Granny,” he finally said, toeing the grass beneath them with his webbed feet. “I don’t have water or luck like Gladstone or fire like Fethry or air like Della…I’m not special…”

“Oh my child.” Elvira sighed as she placed one hand in her lap, the other wrapping around his shoulders and tugging him close. “Witchcraft isn’t a matter of who’s special and who’s not. You don’t need to connect to an element to be a witch, nor do you need luck or anythin’ like that. You don’t even need patrons if you don’t want them.” She rubbed his shoulders with her hand. “All you need is the belief that you can.” Elvira gathered her skirts and stood, gesturing for him to follow her. “Come with me.”

She led him to the house and the kitchens, where she knelt and pulled out a thick book, setting it on the table. Donald watched her, blinking in confusion as he recognised the book – her grimoire, that she had told them not to touch. It was old, leather bound and tattered, added to over the years. “Granny…”

“Now, I’m not sayin’ you won’t grow into your craft, but in the meantime, you can help me with meals and house wards.” She smiled at him, then took his hands and gave them a pat. “Donald, you’re a strong, down to earth boy. “Nothin’ special” my ass. You mark my words, boy, you’re going to be the one that keeps this family together long after I pass.”

Donald looked like he wanted to say something, but instead pursed his beak together and hugged her, burying his face into her shoulder. “Thanks, Granny.”

“Anytime, lad. Now, what’s say we make a nice apple pie?”


	12. Blame it on the Samba (vamp au part 4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> vampire au - on a night on the town, José and Donald come to an understanding

Donald sat his third drink down on the bench and looked around the club, eyesight helping him be able to look through the pulsing lights and the dark atmosphere. They had gotten back to Rio only the previous day after spending a month or two abroad in Mexico, on horseback, and the showers were a very, very big relief to his molting feathers and ones that were about to fall off, if he was honest with himself. He loved Panchito and the open road, but he was just as eager to get back to civilisation after the team building that had happened out there.

It was strange, being around this many people. His ears had gotten used to the sound of two particular heartbeats, but he could hear the ones around him pumping with adrenaline, throbbing like the strobe lights above. A quick listen to the right told him José was off in that direction – Panchito had decided to stay home tonight, leaving it to just him and the parrot to go out for some fun.

That was fine. José had been quiet around him since his admittance that his fangs were the real thing. Donald ran his fingers around the rim of his glass, quieting all other heartbeats by concentrating on José’s alone. It was familiar, gentle, though still packing quite the adrenaline rush that many of the others did, the rhythm indicating his friend was off on the dance floor somewhere. His fingers began tapping the glass to the tune, leaning his head on his other hand and closing his eyes as he enjoyed the thud thud thud more than the auto tuned shit the DJ was playing.

“ _Algo em sua mente, meu amigo_?” The words spoken in his ear drew his attention to the fact that the heartbeat he was listening to was now right next to him, eye opening to see José there, hand on Donald’s knee and hips swaying to the electronic beat. He was clearly wired up if the look in his eyes was any indication, leaning into him to nuzzle his neck and taking the drink from his hand, placing it on the bar. José tilted his head, looking a bit concerned. “You don’t seem like you’re enjoying yourself, Donal’.”

“Just a bit noisy,” he said, gesturing to his ears in case the meaning got lost in the thundering sound happening around them. “It’s okay if you’re enjoying it though, I don’t mind.”

José frowned, then took hold of his hand and tugged him off the stool. Donald followed him, a little bewildered, out the door of the nightclub and into the cool night air, still a humid 25 degrees if the nearby reader was to be believed. “You should have told me,” José scolded gently, leading him away with their fingers entwined. “ _Deus eu sou um idiota_. Of course you wouldn’t be comfortable in a club in your…”

“My…?” Donald prompted him, causing the parrot to stop his furious footsteps, tilting his head. “You can say it.”

“Your… _vampirismo_.” José palmed his tweed jacket with his free hand, sighing a bit and turning to him. “Donal’, I am sorry. I must admit that I have not quite known how to…handle this new information about you.” He tilted his head. “It was unfair of me to take you to a place like that, and to be so judgemental of you, as a practitioner of magic myself. Forgive me.”

“Hey.” He nudged the parrot’s head up to face him, smiling softly. “It’s…it’s okay. I didn’t know how to handle it at first either. But I haven’t killed anyone since my first time, so that’s a plus?” They both laughed a little, and Donald felt a bit of the awkwardness that had been between them since Mexico come down. José’s heart sounded a little more at ease, a little lighter, and it made him smile a bit more.

“But you know, sharing a single tent between three people isn’t going to work if you and Panchito are going to have fun without me,” José said teasingly, crawling his fingers up Donald’s arm as the duck cringed with a blush.

“…Shit, you heard that huh?”

“ _Sím_ , and I have already told Panchito off, because I know it’s him who can’t resist you when I’m not around or paying attention, Donal’.” Tugging the taller Caballero down by his collar, José gave him a kiss, beak to beak, heedless of any passerby’s that might have noticed its heated appearance. He broke it too, pulling back to notice the dreamy look on the duck’s face. “I assume we are, as you Americans say, all good then?”

“Mmm,” Donald agreed, his hand finding José’s hip and nuzzling his face into the parrot’s neck. They stood like that for a few minutes, swaying to the distant sounds of the nightclubs and bars around them, before José broke the silence, cupping Donald’s cheek and rubbing his thumb around on it.

“Are you hungry, _meu amor_?”

The murmur made him pause, inhaling softly and breathing deeply in the other’s feathers. He had made sure to have a little from a blood pack before they left the apartment, having sent correspondence to Scrooge and informing him of his next home base for a while. His uncle had come through, the packs waiting for him when they got there. It was satisfying, sure, but not quite the same as when he’d taken some from Panchito a few times during their journey.

As though sensing his hesitance, José let out a small hum, tilting his head to kiss his jaw. “Don’t think I want Panchito to be the only one to help you, Donal’. You are quite welcome to it, even if I don’t taste the same as some might.”

He was referring to his magic, Donald knew, but he couldn’t help but pick him up slightly by the hips, fingers digging in and nose buried deep in his neck. “You could’ve at least waited until we got home before offering,” he growled, nipping as he moved them into a nearby alleyway. He pushed José against the wall, looking at him with vibrant eyes and a smirk. “I really didn’t want your first time to be as cliché as the back alley behind a bar.”

José chuckled, shoulders shaking. “ _Amor_ , if you don’t call it that then it won’t be a cliché, no?”

“But then where’s the fun?”

Ah, there was his Donal’. His arms threaded over the duck’s shoulders as he nuzzled in close, his pulse starting to quicken as his neck was kissed, the collar of his jacket and undershirt being tugged down to expose him, Donald’s fingers slipping through the buttons easily. José shivered, his tail feathers trembling behind him and brushing against the wall that he was pressed to. Donald was gentle, first nipping and then, as though he had been waiting for a protest, his beak clamped down. José’s eyes fluttered, fingers finding purchase in Donald’s shirt as he murmured encouragement in his native language.

He drank rather deeply, obviously hungrier than he thought that he was, before the insistent tugging on his shirt brought him back to reality. Donald stopped himself before he got out of control, chest heaving as he sealed the mark and leaned back, keeping his hands on José hips if he needed the help, face flushed. “Was…was that okay?”

José’s blood was definitely tangier than Panchito’s, whose was smoother and tasted like spice on the way down. José’s was tangier, a hint of tobacco and something…Donald couldn’t out a word to it to describe it. Perhaps his magic.

“More than okay, _amor_ ,” José replied once he’d gathered himself together, tilting his head and reaching to wipe some from the bottom of Donald’s beak with his thumb. “I think we’ve had enough fun for tonight, don’t you?”

Donald smiled and kissed his beak, holding him up by the waist as they turned to walk out of the alleyway. “I wonder how many boxes of tissues Panch has gone through watching that telenovela.”

“Probably three.”

“Eh, I’ll take those odds.”

Just another night in Rio de Janeiro.


	13. Feverish (vamp au part 5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> vampire au prompt: Donald gets sick from being in the sun/heat for too many subsequent days, and Panchito and José panic and reach out to his family for help. Scrooge shows up.
> 
> (set after Donald and José at the club)

The worst part about travelling around Central and South America as a vampire was, for Donald, the heat and humidity. He’d so far managed to stave off the effects by wearing loose clothing and a sombrero much like Panchito’s, the rooster having gifted it to him upon his arrival in Mexico. He didn’t turn to dust in the sun, as he’d researched in the archives of the money bin all those years ago, but it did make him uncomfortable, causing him to molt much more than he normally would.

It wasn’t until they got to Rio that it started hitting him with some…other effects.

He hid the worst of it from his partners, not wanting to worry them, and easily by using the blood packs that Uncle Scrooge had sent down, but some things weren’t easy to hide. Especially when you collapse in the middle of a market while vegetable shopping for dinner that night with your shorter boyfriend.

Donald passed out on his front, José’s voice echoing in his ears as the parrot tried to bring him back around.

He slipped in and out of consciousness, heat induced sickness taking a toll on his body at last, sometimes vaguely aware of things. He heard two hearts pounding rapidly most of the time, worry on the tip of his tongue, his more vampiric senses distinctly heavier than his normal ones. The times that he was aware, those were the worst. It was like being trapped in his own body, watching himself snarl sluggishly, eyesight red and so, so thirsty.

They had done the smart thing and tied him up to the bed after the first stage.

The next time Donald was aware, there were three heartbeats nearby, all familiar. Cheeks and chest flushed a deep red, he opened his eyes, blinking blearily at the ceiling before tilting his head to look to where the heartbeats were. With blurred vision, he could make out distinct shapes to match the heartbeats, croaking out words that tasted like he hadn’t had water in a week. “Uncle Scrooge?”

Scrooge looked away from his nephew’s mates, who glanced at each other with worry etched across their foreheads, turning his attention to Donald. The lads had called him in a panic after looking through Donald’s phone for emergency contacts that weren’t them, before finding his house number and managing to wrangle Bentina into letting them talk to him once they said what it was about. He hadn’t heard from Donald in more than a year or two, but Della’s guess that he was in South America was correct it seemed.

“Y’gave us quite a scare, lad,” he said, tone scornful and yet worried at the same time as José and Panchito sighed with a bit of relief, going over to the younger duck. Scrooge came closer, but kept his distance nonetheless, taking a seat in the middle of the room on an ottoman. It was likely best not to overwhelm Donald’s senses with his wolf scent while his mates were nearby, yet he still used his cane to poke his weak nephew in the side. “Next time you do a silly thing like traipse across Central and South America without resting from the sunlight, think again, eh? Yer no good to anyone passed out from heat stroke and blood fever.”

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, letting out a small noise when José pressed the back of his hand to Donald’s forehead.

“You skimped out on telling yer mates here th’ first thing about taking care of a sick vampire,” his uncle groused, prodding his nephew’s side harder with the end of his cane. “I had Launchpad fly me here pronto, skipped a meeting with th’ vultures, an’ now I’m in the middle of Rio with you throwing up on me.”

Panchito and José shared a look before Donald let out a small laugh, coughing immediately. “I see you haven’t changed.”

“Takes a McDuck to know a McDuck, nephew.”

That drew a chuckle out of both of them before it was interrupted by Donald coughing again, relaxing against the bed and wriggling his wrists around in his bonds as José sat down near Donald’s hip, satisfied with his temperature, and Panchito took the other side. “You certainly scared us, _amor_ ,” the parrot said, reaching to his side with a look to Scrooge, who nodded, and uncapping one of the blood packs the old duck had brought with him, leaning closer to hold it for Donald, who sniffed it. “We didn’t know what to do, not with this.”

“We had to call your _Tío_ ,” Panchito continued for him, hand cradling Donald’s head while he drank from the pack. “ _Lo siento, amor_ , but we didn’t want you to get worse before you got better.”

“The archives were able to provide me with some information, but I wanted to deliver it myself,” Scrooge supplied, watching them curiously. The way they treated his nephew with such care was almost tender, reminding him of the teas his mother used to make for the nights around the full moon when his lycanthropy was at its worst. “I took the hunch that the address you gave me for your blood packs was correct, and found these two tying you up to the bed.” They had the decency to blush as Donald coughed on the blood in his mouth in surprise. “Donald, I don’t care what you get up to, but please feel for these poor old eyes.”

“Is this O type?” Donald asked curiously, licking his beak as his partners got over their shock that an old man would be so brazen as to say things like that. “It tastes like O.” He went back to draining the pack dry, smacking his beak when José pulled it away and uncapped another.

“It’s said to be the best for blood fevers brought on by heat, according to the archives,” Scrooge said with a small shrug. “I have yet to ask an actual vampire, given my own condition.”

“You can tell the difference, Donal’?” José asked curiously, reaching for a handkerchief in order to wipe what little escaped the duck’s beak.

“A little,” he admitted, squirming back into Panchito’s hand and hearing the rooster laugh softly behind him. “I only know because that was what Uncle Scrooge had me fed on for like, a week after.”

“I think you’ll be fine from now on, lad, provided you don’t strain yourself from the heat again,” his uncle added, waving his cane in his direction. “Your mates told me you’ve been drinking from them?” The three of them blushed, with Donald nodding in confirmation as he drunk from the second pack, attempting not to cough again. “Your body’s been gettin’ used to it. Packs are one thing but actual blood direct from the source is completely different.”

“ _Señor_ , when you say mates…?” Panchito began, fingers of his other hand combing Donald’s feathery hair back from his head, stuck there by sweat from the fever.

“Quite frankly, if this room smells what it smells like, I don’t want to know,” Scrooge deadpanned, scratching his sideburns as Donald proceeded to choke on his laughter, pulling back from the blood pack before José could drop it in shock and embarrassment. “You boys have been taking care of my nephew, that’s all that matters to me. What you do in your spare time is none of my business.”

“Ah, _obrigado, senhor_. I think?” José said, looking at Panchito and Donald for confirmation with a raised eyebrow.

“That’s Uncle Scrooge for ‘thank you’,” Donald said, his wrists wriggling around in his bonds. He was already beginning to look better, beak less pale than it had been for at least a week.

“Well you’re obviously feeling better,” Scrooge quipped, tilting his head with a crick of his neck and standing, gesturing with his cane. “I’d still keep him in those for a day or so, lads. He might be feeling better but those vampire instincts could take over if he lapses.” The way the boys looked at his nephew made him smirk a bit, tipping his top hat to them. “I’ll take that as my cue to leave. Lads.”

“ _Gracias, señor_.”

“ _Obrigado, Senhor Scrooge_.”

“Wait, Uncle Scrooge…!”

Scrooge left the room, closing the door behind him with a laugh to himself. That’d teach Donald to worry him sick and call him down to South America. Now, that Golden MacGuffin was calling his name…


	14. Addiction and Trust (José x Donald)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: “I’m addicted to you” and “Trust me, I know what I’m doing”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set during? after? _Saludos Amigos_ or _The Three Caballeros_. Donald trying to come to terms with his crush on José.

“…I’m addicted to you.”

The quiet admission came from his left, José opening his eye to look at the duck that accompanied him tonight. The rooftop was quiet, if not for the sound of music distant underneath their feet. Then again, all of Rio was ablaze with song. Donald had his head pillowed against his arms, the flush on his cheeks visible under the moonlight, and he tucked his beak further into the crook of his elbow when he didn’t receive an answer.

Mostly because José was trying to process the sentence, his cigar hanging from his fingers as he leaned against the bars, propped up on his elbows and he inhaled, exhaling smoke in rings.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

Donald didn’t look at him, knees curling tighter against his chest. “Maybe?” he finally breathed out, air escaping his lungs. With a huff and a sigh, he stood, waving his hands and starting to walk away from his perch. “Ignore me. I’m probably drunk…”

A hand on his forearm and a beak pressed against his stopped him, the taste of tobacco lingering there when José pulled back, tilting his head with a small smile. “Donal’, none of your drinks were alcoholic.” The duck’s beak blazing red at the cheeks, he hummed and pulled him closer, fingers dropping to a hip and brushing through white down there. “Is it such a bad thing?” he repeated, leaning closer.

“No.”

Fireworks went off somewhere to the right as they kissed, nothing but the sea, the moon and the warm night air surrounding them that made Donald feel warmer than he should have been.

It wasn’t a bad thing.

——————————

“Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

They had made it back to José’s apartment, hands wandering and never leaving hips and backs, teeth and beaks nipping at skin underneath feathers. They were barely inside the door when the parrot turned and pressed him into it, murmuring the words into his ear. Donald’s fingers scraped at the wood before they found purchase on José’s shoulder, his head tilting back as he stared up at the ceiling.

The world spun, dizzying and delightful, the heel of his free palm coming to his beak to muffle any noise that came from it. José’s beak grazed just below his stomach, his cheeks flushed and watching the smaller bird do…that. Incoherent thoughts mumbled in Donald’s head, his eyes squeezing shut as he felt the nips rise, a hand coming to gently take his away from his mouth.

He opened his eyes to find José looking at him patiently, brown gaze warm and pretty as his fingers wrapped through the soft feathers under his stomach. “We don’t have to,” he murmured, tilting his head up and standing on his tip toes to kiss Donald’s bowed forehead.

“I want to,” Donald couldn’t help but whine out, cheeks flushed and receiving a blink before José chuckled softly.

“Do you trust me?”

“…Yes.”

“Then let me,” he purred, the noise making Donald squeak and his cheeks heat up to beet red. His wrist was turned around, kiss after kiss pressed to the feathers there, fingers linking as José lead him further in, neglecting to flick on the light as they passed it to the bed.

It was okay.

He didn’t need it. Just the trust and the warmth that thrummed in his veins and the adoration and love that hit him when José looked at him and smiled.

It was enough.


End file.
